A Son For A Son
by Isa'sWritings
Summary: Prompt: Blaine's father is an emergency surgeon and although he tries his hardest, a young boy dies on his table. The boy's father goes insane with grief and takes a gun down to McKinley. If he is going to lose a son, Dr. Anderson is going to as well.


I'm back with another story! Again a fill for a prompt I found on the BPOTD page. I would normally add the full prompt in the introduction, but it contains spoilers for the story, so if you want to read the prompt first despite the spoilers, I put it in the AN at the end.

The story takes place in season 4, after _Feud_ but before _Shooting Star_. The story is AU, of course, and may contain spoilers for season 4.

Anyway, I hope this is what the prompter had in mind. And if not, I hope he/she and all of you will enjoy it anyway.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee or any of its characters (though I do own the characters I have invented myself for this story).

* * *

**A Son For A Son**

A monotonous, piercing beep filled the air, interrupting the silence outside the operating theatre. Inside, shouting could be heard as doctors frantically moved around, moving machinery and handing equipment to their colleagues. After several minutes, however, they all ceased their activities when they realised that their efforts were in vain.

Dr Nicolas Anderson ripped off his scrubs in frustration as he left the room, sighing deeply. From behind him, he could still faintly hear the harsh beep from one of the machines, until someone turned it off. As he was washing his hands, he thought about the many ways today's surgery could have gone differently. But ultimately, he had to admit to himself that he had done everything he possibly could to save that boy's life. Sometimes, doing his best just wasn't enough.

Nick looked through the window of the door at the waiting room at the end of the long corridor, where the boy's father was waiting anxiously for news about his only son. With another sigh, he opened the door and determinedly walked into the waiting room.

"Mr Keating?"

The man's head snapped up when he heard the emergency surgeon calling his name.

"Yes? Ben... Is he... How did it go?"

"Mr Keating, I'm very sorry..."

"No..."

"There was a complication. I'm afraid your son didn't make it."

"No...," Leon Keating wailed softly. "Please, he's all I have, please tell me he's okay."

"I'm very sorry, sir. We did everything we could, but his injuries were too severe."

For several minutes, Nick tried to explain exactly what had gone wrong during the surgery, but Mr Keating was too distraught to listen. Eventually, he left Mr Keating in the capable hands of one of the grief counsellors, knowing there was nothing else he could do for the man.

* * *

"Hey, dad."

Blaine was leaning against his car while he waited for his father in the parking lot. Nick had asked him to pick him up after his shift today; his own car had broken down the day before and hadn't been fixed yet.

"How was your day?"

The surgeon didn't answer. Instead, he hugged his son firmly, taking the latter by surprise.

"Dad, are you okay?" Blaine asked hesitatingly.

"Yeah, sure." Nick released him. "Just had a rough day, that's all."

"Oh."

Nick knew Blaine was curious to know what had happened to elicit this kind of behaviour from his father, but to his credit, he didn't ask a single question on the way home, leaving Nick to his thoughts. He couldn't stop thinking about the boy that had died today, how young he was, how – until a few hours ago – he had still had his whole life in front of him. Until one irresponsible driver had put an end to that life.

And he couldn't help but compare the boy to the way Blaine had been at that age, how energetic he had been – almost bouncing off the walls –, how he could talk a thousand words per minute, how proud he had been telling his little friends about his dad, who was "a real hero because he saves lives". Looking at him now, Blaine was no longer the little kid he had once been. All of a sudden, Nick realised his youngest was going to leave soon to fulfil his own dreams, which had turned out to be very different from his own, and that he would have to make the most of the time they still had.

"So, Blaine, I've got the weekend off. Would you be interested in spending some quality time with your old man? Maybe we could go watch a game together on Saturday."

"Um, sure, that sounds great. I was going to go to the pool with Tina and Sam on Sunday, but we can hang out on Saturday."

"What about your homework?"

"I can do it on Friday. I'm already ahead anyway. Classes at McKinley are easy compared to Dalton."

Nick frowned. Blaine's transfer to McKinley had been the cause of many an argument in the Anderson household and still was a bit of a sore spot between the two of them. But, helped by his recent insight and the fact that Blaine was almost graduated, he decided it wasn't worth the trouble and let the matter rest.

"Good, Saturday it is then."

* * *

Nick was late. Or better, he would be late if he didn't leave right away. Which is why the ringing of his phone wasn't exactly welcome at that very moment.

Checking the caller ID, he decided to take it anyway, in the meantime grabbing what he needed for work.

"Hey, Blaine. Is this urgent or can I call you back later? 'Cause I'm already late and–"

"Dad."

Blaine's voice made him stop in his tracks abruptly. It didn't sound normal, but more like something in between a half whisper and a suppressed sob.

"Blaine? Are you okay?"

There was a strange noise on the other side of the line and then he heard another, deeper voice.

"Hello, Dr Anderson."

"Who are you? Where is Blaine?"

"I'm sorry, but your son can't come to the phone right now." The voice, which seemed familiar even though he couldn't put a face to it, sounded falsely cheerful, as if the man were telling a joke he knew wasn't a joke at all. "As to who I am, you already know the answer to that question. Hm, but perhaps you don't recognise my voice... Tell you what, why don't you come to your son's school and we'll talk face-to-face."

Nick was about to demand an explanation when the voice continued.

"Oh, and Dr Anderson? I suggest you hurry up. I wouldn't want to have to hurt your precious son just because you didn't care enough to come right away."

With a resounding click, the connection was broken and Nick was left staring at his phone, fear for his youngest son settling in his stomach.

Of course, traffic was a disaster. Just when he needed to hurry, all the other cars were in his way.

Nick knew he was driving recklessly, but he couldn't care less. Only when he nearly ran someone over, did he slow down, remembering the horrible hit-and-run accident that had taken the life of the Keating boy just a few days before. The eight-year-old had been crossing the street under the watchful eye of his father on his way to school, when a car had run the light and intercepted the child while Leon Keating could only watch as his son was thrown into the air by the force of the impact and fell to the ground in a heap.

At least, that was what Nick had heard on the news later on and from the grief counsellor he had referred Mr Keating to. At the time, all Dr Anderson had seen was the broken boy with life-threatening injuries on his operating table. He had known at first sight it would be touch-and-go, but he had tried anyway.

Nick pushed his gloomy thoughts to the back of his mind in frustration. Right now, he needed to focus on Blaine and make sure he was safe and well. Although he had no idea what was going on, he was fairly certain Blaine's life was in danger.

Finally, William McKinley High School appeared as he rounded a last bend. He could tell at once that something was very wrong from the mass of students and teachers that had gathered outside. It seemed everyone had vacated the school to congregate in front of it. Making his way through the anxiously muttering crowd, Nick eventually spotted a boy he recognised as Blaine's best friend, Sam, who was standing with the rest of Blaine's friends. The only person he didn't see, however, was the one person he was looking for.

"Sam!"

The blond senior turned when he heard his name, immediately paling as he spotted the doctor who had treated his shoulder back in sophomore year and who he had discovered to be his best friend's father.

"Dr A."

"Sam, where is Blaine?"

"Uhm..."

Sam was gaping at him – his eyes wide and mouth open as if he were imitating a goldfish – but seemed unable speak. Fortunately for both, Mr Schuester noticed his predicament and came to his rescue.

"Mr Anderson," he said, laying a hand on the parent's shoulder and drawing his attention.

"He's inside, isn't he?"

Will nodded solemnly.

"I'm not sure how or why, but some guy entered the school with a gun. He made principal Figgins call Blaine to his office and took him hostage." Will's voice trembled slightly as he recounted what the principal had told him earlier. "Figgins called for an emergency evacuation and then a bit later, we heard two shots before he came out as well."

Upon seeing Nick's horrified expression, Will was quick to reassure him.

"Blaine wasn't hurt. Figgins said they were warning shots, to make him go away. He assured me that Blaine was unharmed when he left. We haven't heard anything since."

Nick's mind hardly registered the rest of what Will was saying about the police being on the way; it was stuck on just one thought.

"He left Blaine alone in there with a madman?"

Will squirmed uncomfortably, taken aback by the hard tone in his voice.

"Well, uhm... Not exactly."

* * *

A short distance from where Nick knew the principal's office was, a tall blonde woman in a tracksuit was leaning against a wall, her eyes fixed on the windows of the office.

"Dr Anderson," she greeted him. "Glad you're here."

"Coach Sylvester, right?"

Based on the descriptions Blaine had given, Nick easily deduced this must be his son's infamous cheerleading coach.

"That's right."

She nodded towards the office, where Nick could see the pair waiting inside. Blaine was sitting in a chair that was standing sideways in front of a large desk, keeping his eyes on his hostage taker, who was pacing in front of the teenager but still kept his gun trained on him the whole time.

"I think he's waiting for someone," Coach Sylvester continued. "I've tried to draw him out, but he wouldn't talk to me. He wouldn't even let me come closer than this. But if that half-brained jerk thinks I'm going to abandon Blaine, he's sadly mistaken."

Nick smiled at her gratefully, but cursed when the pacing man turned in their direction, revealing his identity to the emergency surgeon.

"Leon Keating," he muttered, stunned.

"You know him?"

"Yes."

Without offering any further explanation, Nick approached the office and cautiously opened the first door. As expected, his action caught the attention of Mr Keating. He watched helplessly as the man grabbed Blaine by the collar of his Cheerios uniform, dragged him to his feet and pushed him through the door leading to the main office. Keeping his hold on the teenager's collar, he placed his gun against Blaine's lower back.

"It's about time you got here."

Nick ignored him in favour of his son. A look of anxious relief on his face, Blaine was perceptibly trying his best to keep his cool, though the repeated clenching and unclenching of his fists gave away his agitation.

"Are you alright, Blaine?"

"Yes," Blaine answered in a shaky voice. "Dad, what's going on?"

"I'm not sure. Just stay calm, okay? It'll be fine."

"Tsk, you of all people should know better than to make promises you can't keep, Dr Anderson."

"Please, let him go," Nick pleaded. "Whatever you want, I'm sure we can work something out. There's no need to involve him."

"That's where you're wrong, doc. You see, I already have what I want right here." He paused, reinforcing his grip on Blaine's collar. "An eye for an eye, a son for a son."

In that moment, as he felt his heart drop to his stomach and his mouth go dry, Nick realised he wasn't dealing with a madman rendered insane by grief. This was a man who was calm and resolute, who was determined to stick by the decision he had made, whose grief had been replaced by cold anger. This was a man who had nothing left to lose.

"Please, don't..."

"It's only right, you know. After all, you took my son."

"I didn't. The surgery... His injuries were too severe. I told you that. Before the surgery, I told you that he didn't stand much of a chance–"

"You should have tried harder!"

A tense silence followed the angry outburst.

"I did everything I could," Nick whispered. "Your son was beyond help. And I'm very sorry for your loss, I truly am. But my son shouldn't suffer because you've decided to blame me for Benjamin's death. He has his whole life ahead of him. Please don't take that away from him. Please."

"And what about my Benjamin's future? Or wasn't his future important enough?"

"I didn't say that. But I'm not responsible for taking it away."

"Maybe not. However, you _are_ responsible for not trying hard enough to preserve it. So now _you_ get to watch your son die while you can't do a thing to save him."

Nick knew there was nothing left to say; nothing would change Mr Keating's mind. He wanted to try, to keep trying to get him to reconsider, but he knew the point was moot.

Until another, unexpected voice suddenly piped up.

"So that's what this is all about," Blaine mused. "You don't blame my father, do you? Hell, you don't even really blame whoever put your son in the hospital in the first place. You blame yourself, because your son died and there was nothing you could do to help him. You felt helpless. And now you take your own feelings of guilt out on the one person who tried to help your son because my dad is an easy target."

"Shut up," Mr Keating growled, shaking him warningly.

"No," Blaine continued stubbornly. "You may not want to hear this, but you know I'm right. You know this wasn't my dad's fault and that killing me won't make that guilty feeling go away. But you intend to do it anyway out of some unfounded conviction that it will make you feel less helpless, so that you can pretend that you actually did something instead of standing passively by and waiting for some stranger to save your son's life. But it doesn't work that way. You won't feel any less helpless or any less guilty."

"I said shut up!"

Mr Keating brusquely turned Blaine around and looked him straight in the eyes, now aiming the gun at his abdomen. But Blaine still wouldn't back down.

"Do you think Benjamin would want you to do this?"

A myriad of emotions flickered over Mr Keating's face, too quickly for Blaine to follow.

In the silence, a loud shot rang out.

Gasping in surprise and pain, Blaine stumbled backwards, to be caught by his father while a spot that hadn't been on his shirt before gradually increased in size. As Nick gently laid his son down, checking for an exit wound in the process, a SWAT team appeared from around the corner, where they had been waiting in order to assess the situation and come up with a plan of action. However, before they could barge in and belatedly take control of the situation, another shot was heard.

Leon Keating dropped lifelessly to the ground where he lay still, a pool of blood forming around his head.

"Blaine? Blaine, can you hear me?"

"Don't just stand there, you idiots! Call the paramedics in right now!"

As he was assessing his son's condition – already having established that there was no exit wound –, Nick was vaguely aware that Coach Sylvester crouched down on Blaine's other side, shouting instructions at the SWAT team.

"Dad?"

It was no more than a frightened, agonised whisper, but Nick had heard it despite the noise.

"I'm here, Blaine. You're going to be fine. Just stay awake, okay?"

A shaky whimper escaped the teenager as Nick pulled his shirt away and ripped it open a bit further so that he could see the wound.

"I'm sorry. I know it hurts, but I have to do this."

Never in his life had Nick ever been so happy to be an emergency surgeon.

"Listen, Blaine. I'm going to put pressure on the wound. It's going to hurt, but I need you to try to stay awake, okay?"

"Okay."

Nick looked his son in the eyes, emitting a silent apology for the pain he was about to cause his youngest son.

"Stay with me, okay?"

Satisfied when Blaine nodded, he took the jacket Coach Sylvester offered and used it to press down on the wound as hard as he could. In response, Blaine squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. His hands weakly balled into fists and his chest was heaving.

"Please stay awake, Blaine," Nick repeated, sounding desperate.

Opposite him, the cheerleading coach took Blaine's hand and squeezed it firmly.

"Guess I should have ordered bulletproof uniforms, huh, Anderson?" she said in an attempt to distract the teenager from his pain. It helped a little bit, Nick noted as a breathy chuckle escape his son. "You're lucky I like you, B. I may just forgive you for ruining your uniform and my tracksuit, and I may not even ask you to do fifty laps around the field before and after every practice for the rest of the year as repayment."

While he sat there trying to keep Blaine from bleeding out, Nick wondered what was taking the paramedics so long to get there. Surely they would already have been on scene but waiting outside until it was safe to come in. Everyone knew that in cases like this, time was of the essence.

"Dad?"

Nick turned his attention back to his son, who was clearly struggling to stay awake as he had been instructed to but losing the battle.

"I'm... sorry."

Nick had no idea why Blaine felt he had to apologise to him, but he was having none of it. Not now.

"Hey, no, don't apologise, buddy. You have nothing to apologise for. None of this was your fault."

"Not... yours... either..."

Nick held his son's gaze for a while before quietly giving in.

"I know."

Finally, the paramedics entered and shoved Coach Sylvester out of the way, dislodging her grip on Blaine's hand. Nick immediately started describing the injury to his colleagues. When one of them took over putting pressure on the wound, Nick sat down in the spot Coach Sylvester had just vacated and took Blaine's hand like she had done just moments before, without paying attention to the fact that both of his hands were covered in Blaine's blood.

"Stay awake a bit longer, okay?"

Blaine nodded again, but Nick knew he wouldn't last much longer. Despite incessantly talking to him, his son had fallen unconscious by the time the paramedics placed him on a stretcher.

Nick rode with him in the ambulance, all the while holding his hand, and walked next to him as they brought him into the emergency room, giving the attending doctors a detailed account of the injury and Blaine's medical history. When they passed the doors leading to the operating theatre, one of his older colleagues – the one who had been his own mentor many years ago – held him back and shook his head. Suddenly realising he was the concerned father in this scenario instead of the operating surgeon, Nick acquiesced and made his way to the waiting room, where he sat wringing his hands until the surgeon emerged with a serious expression on his face. As he stood up on shaky legs to meet him, Nick absently noted the man had already taken off the scrubs he had worn during the surgery.

**The end**

* * *

That's it. I hope you guys liked it. If so, don't hesitate to leave a review. Even if you didn't like it, you're very welcome to leave a review and tell me what I could have done better so that I might learn from it.

As promised in the introduction: here is the full prompt:

_Prompt: Blaine's father is an emergency surgeon and although he tries his hardest, a young boy dies on his table. The boy's father goes insane with grief and takes a gun down to McKinley. If he is going to lose a son, Dr. Anderson is going to as well. The man calls Dr. Anderson to the school because he wants him to witness his son's death. He tries to talk the man down but Blaine still gets shot. Blaine's badly hurt._


End file.
